


The Awkward Squad

by B_Radley



Series: Rarities [8]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Blackbirds: Year One, Gen, Humor, Playing In Someone Else’s Sandbox, Respite, sticky situations, with some toys of my own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 07:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16760956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley
Summary: Four Blackbirds go to a party.





	The Awkward Squad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SLWalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Blackbirds: Year One](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036421) by [SLWalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker). 



> Updated with new material!
> 
> A gift for SL Walker, set in her universe. All mistakes are mine. Hope it brings a smile.

Shiv reaches out with his right hand to stop his flight towards the hearth. He manages to at least slow the hurtle before rolling and jumping to his feet. He almost makes it upright before the ‘propulsion system,’ in the form of a cranky Trandoshan, yanks him into the air and sends him in the opposite direction.

 _It’s a milk run_ , the large Null had said at the briefing. _What could go wrong?_

As his head strikes Rancor’s stomach and they both collapse, he wonders if he could make the oversized bastard eat those words.

_If they survive the milk run, that is._

+=+=+=+=+=

“I appreciate you coming over to give us a hand with this. The rest of the 332nd is stretched pretty thin with various campaigns we’re providing support for,” says Captain Gregor. “General Croft is already embedded in that hole. Haven’t heard from him since he and his CorSec contact went in after the other end of that Blastech treason you and the rest of the Blackbirds came across.” The Commando officer pushes the bottle across to Shiv.

Shiv pulls the bottle over and pulls the cork. He takes a healthy slug, then passes it over to Raze, who shakes his head. Rabbit takes the bottle and downs a cautious sip, coughing a bit, before passing it to Rancor, who looks down at the bottle, then shakes his head. He places the bottle back on the desk.

Shiv turns around at the sound of a boot shifting behind them. Drop pushes off from where he leans against the bulkhead. He nods at Rancor, smiling. “Takes a big man to make his own way, when everybody expects him to follow the crowd, troop,” he says.

Rancor nods after a while, a slow smile growing.

“What about me, Sar-Major?” Raze asks brightly.

The huge Null bites back a quick laugh. “I think everybody’s pretty sure that you’ll make your own way, Paints,” he says.

“Now that we’ve had the universe according to Drop outlined for us, could we get on with it?” Shiv breaks in, dryly.

“Eager aren’t you?” Drop shoots back. “Where’s the rest of the merry band, Shiv?”

“You ‘experts’ aren’t the only ones stretched thin. General Kenobi has the LT and the rest doing another job.” He grins. “A job that requires our obvious subtlety. Cleaning up a Wolffe-made mess. After the last Kenobi-Skywalker-Tano-made mess.”

Drop nods after a moment. “Gregor, I’ll take care of the rest of this. This is my responsibility.”

Gregor stares at him, then picks up the bottle. He takes his own swig. “Okay, Drop. According to General Ti and Commander Jaquindo, you’ve got twenty-four hours before they ask the Council to send the 501st. Might lose that air of ‘subtlety’ if Skywalker and Tano come blazing in for this one.” He turns and exits the room.

“So what the hell have you gotten us into, Drop?” Shiv asks.

“Oh. Just wanted to see how y’all clean up,” Drop says. “Relax, boys. It’ll be easy. Just go to a party, grab a thingy that’s ‘critical to the war effort,’ make sure Croft and his buddy get out with all of their parts and we’re home free.”

+=+=+=+=+=

 _He didn’t say that the damned shindig was on Nar Shaddaa. In Hutt Town, no less_ , Shiv’s brain registers as he stands next to Rancor, watching the large crowd continue to party the night away. He looks over at Rancor, who looks at ease in the expensive gray business suit that he’s been poured into. More at ease than he himself feels. Shiv looks down at his own version, in dark blue. He grins. _Just another version of armor_ , he thinks. He moves his hand to his forehead. As he does, his eyes fall on the faint scars on his wrist, then on the one that mirrors it on the other. A flash of memories assault his brain. He manages to force them to the back of the shuttle. He pulls his hand down and places it next to the other, slightly above the table, searching for any hint of tremors. He grins. _Steady as a rock._

Steadier than his thoughts are; his first field mission back after Llanic.

He looks and gives no hint of seeing Raze and Rabbit, dressed similarly across the room. He sighs. They had spent the better part of the twelve hours that they had been here, in a less shady part of the city-planet that was the Smugglers’ Moon, each pair studiously ignoring the other, as they waited for acknowledgement of the code sequence Rancor had sent. That didn’t count the hours spent on a hyperspace shuttle—two separate connections, each pair traveling separately. Never mind that they each had identical faces. He wonders who had come up with this farce of a plan.

He rolls his eyes as his fingers move above his upper lip, wondering why Drop had insisted on Raze applying his makeup skills by attaching something that resembled two of Commander Half-Pint’s favorite snacks drooping from either side of his mouth. Given Raze’s former love for adorning himself with the damned thing, he considers whether the fake mustache had started life as those fuzzy tails.

A shadow crosses over his vision and stops at their corner. His eyebrows raise as the battered labor droid, painted a dull brown, motions them to a table, a strange, tight gait marking his movements, as they follow. As soon as they are all seated, the bulky droid produces a small data chip and hands it over to him. He passes it to Rancor, who places it in the datapad. Rancor nods as the indicator light blinks green.

“I’m Bollux,” the droid says in a slow, drawling inflection. “I’m supposed to take you to the next step to acquire the device that you’re after.”

 _Great. Yet another stop._ Shiv thinks, _This isn’t a Drop plan. This sounds more like a Corellian-Mandalorian plan,_ as he considers a certain Jedi commando general. _Probably with hints of Togruta craziness thrown in_ , he adds, mentally, remembering the _akul_ teeth on Croft’s weapons belt, as well as the genesis of the neon green paint in his beard.

As they walk out into the night, Shiv becomes conscious of several large beings, falling into step around them. He pulls his left arm in tighter to his body, feeling the comforting shape of the DC-17 in the shoulder holster. He catches Rancor’s eye. The not-so-shiny’s lip quirks up, under the slightly less luxuriant false hair.

Shiv notices that they have only traveled a brief distance, but the neighborhood seems to quickly go down in the level of gentrification. They enter a small bar, where they see that they are both overdressed for this particular establishment. All save the small being sitting in the back, watching them with interest.

A Trandoshan steps in front of them as the other behemoths of various species pull in tight around them. “Did your bosses think that sending four of their overdressed idiots would intimidate us into bringing down the price? The Antols must be stupider than we thought,” he says in his deep, hissing sibilance.

Shiv is about to reply when the small building shudders with a large explosion. He and Rancor look at one another. _That’s one of—_ , the thought begins.

The thought goes no further as the Trandoshan grabs the front of his expensive suit.

 _Hey, hands off of the armor_ , flashes into his head as he swings.

+=+=+=+=+=

Shiv is conscious of two things as he comes awake. He feels Rancor’s even breathing under his ear; he wonders how long he had been out, resting against the other Blackbird’s stomach. The second is that Rancor’s stomach is growling with hunger. _How long have we been out?_

“Not long, apparently,” he says aloud, as he feels a clawed hand grasp his ankle. As he’s dragged away, he reflects on where the mission could’ve gone wrong and concludes that it was most probably when they had sat down in Gregor’s office back on Radnor.

“Put the nice man down, Zad,” comes a quiet voice with a hint of a Coruscanti accent, though different from General Kenobi’s. The Trandoshan obliges, shoving them both to the floor. Shiv looks up towards the sound of the voice. Then down, as he realizes that the voice originates closer to the dirty bar floor. He takes the opportunity to survey his surroundings. He is in a small room off of the main bar. Another Trandoshan, a Falleen, and three Weequay stand watch around the two points of egress. He manages to smile to himself, without it hurting too much. Rabbit and Raze are nowhere to be seen.

The small being that Shiv had seen seated in the back as he had come into the bar to meet their contact stands watching him. A hint of a grin pops over his lips as a pair of gray eyes look over he and Rancor. Only a hint as his expression grows harder. Shiv sees that he is holding a datapad in one hand and some sort of umbrella concoction in the other. Another datapad rests in a leather holster on his belt, opposite the empty one. Shiv smirks as he thinks of how close the setup looks like a pair of blasters.

Rancor groans next to him and sits up, his eyes only slightly bleary. A slight bruise on his forehead stands out against his skin. His eyes focus quickly on their predicament.

“You know, I wonder if this is part of an elaborate plot for Drop to get back at us for the paintbombing of him and his boss,” he says.

“No,” Shiv replies, deadpan. “I think that would take more brains than either of them possess.” He and Rancor both grin at one another, sharing a thought of the mercurial young Jedi and his oversized right hand. He looks down at their captor. “So what’s this all about? You do know that we’re the soft approach for this deal we tried to make, with whoever your boss is?”

The grin returns in full, rather than just a hint. “That would be great, if I was the one who had to be impressed with your dealmaking skills. Or not,” he adds dryly. He eyes one of the Weequay, who holds his hand to his ear. He nods and returns his datapad to his belt, then pulls the other one out. He punches one button with his thumb.

A loud howling is heard in the room. Five of the thugs drop to the ground, clutching their various auditory organs. Shiv tenses as he sees them spasm once, twice, then remain still. He and Rancor stand looking at one another. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the one Weequay remains standing.

Their ‘captor’ looks back at the unconscious quintet. “Been wanting to do that. All of the veiled and not-so-veiled short jokes, not to mention their body odor, has been wearing.” He smiles at Shiv’s and Rancor’s expressions. “Had to wait ‘til we got the signal from Drop. Sorry for all of the shoving. Didn’t expect you to put up that much of a fight.”

“Okay, ‘boss’,” Shiv says. “What the hell is going on?”

“Why, Shiv. I thought you liked surprises,” says a warm voice, in alto, from the door. Shiv starts, just as a warm feeling washes over him. A feeling centered in his heart, his mind, and a certain part of his body. He didn’t think that the trousers were that well tailored. All three parts seem to be pounding, in one way or another.

A pair of crimson legs, just visible through a long slit in a gold skirt, moves into his vision. He closes his eyes, remembering every touch of those particular legs, during one night’s liberty on Corellia.

He manages to track his eyes up the rest of the evening gown to a pair of laughing purple eyes. Eyes that had transitioned to the black many times in that one night, an indicator of strong emotion in her species.

Dani Faygan, Senior Deputy Constable in the service of that particular liberty-port, smiles down at him. She reaches down and pulls both of them to their feet. The warmth of her skin, just a couple of degrees warmer than most he had known, cuts through his senses. She moves her hand to his cheek.

“Still got pretty eyes, Shiv,” she says.

A slight _ahem_ , its source only a slight bit lower than her, sounds. She rolls her eyes at her cohort. “Hush, Phygus. Shiv’s an old friend.”

“You two know each other?” comes a new, but familiar voice. Shiv and Rancor whirl. Where a very ugly Weequay had stood, a human now stands, the beard and hair now regaining some of their earlier luxuriant growth. He winces as he remembers his earlier crack about the relative intelligence of this now-human and another. His eyebrows raise at yet another hidden layer demonstrated by their sometime handler.

General Taliesin Croft stands looking at Shiv and Dani. Both of the Blackbirds look at one another.

“Yeah, I know, boys. It’s only a slight improvement in looks,” comes a voice from a large figure suddenly standing next to him. Shiv feels the sense of urgency swirling off of Drop. Rabbit and Raze stand next to Croft, as well as the droid.

“Time to go kids,” Drop says, “we can all put various parts together on the trip out of here. We’ve worn out our welcome, thanks to Raze’s little conversation starters.” Drop slaps Raze on the back. “Exceptional conversation starters, bud,” he says. Shiv smiles warmly as Raze beams and swells with pride under the praise—praise that is hard-earned from that particular NCO. He hears a whispered, “thanks, Sar-Major,” from Raze.

Shiv, Rancor, and Rabbit all look at one another with their own pride. Dani smiles and says, “You might have to teach me some of those mixes, dear.” Then she looks at Croft. “Especially ones that keep certain Jedi humble when he’s doing things he probably shouldn’t.”

All of them are treated to Raze blushing, then trying to stammer out a reply.

“Hey,” Croft says. “I was trying to improve the image of the Jedi with the media.”

“You keep thinking that, Jedi-boy,” Dani says. “It probably worked almost as well as it did on me, before I taught you a few things.”

Shiv sees Drop roll his eyes, then look at Croft, tapping the droid on the chest. “Bollux has the thingy.”

Shiv realizes that an unconscious human is held upright in Drop’s huge fist. As they move out, Shiv hears Dani say to Croft, “Close your mouth, son. Do you think I just sit around pining for the great Taliesin Croft to darken my doorstep?”

Croft’s reply is lost as Shiv wonders how the hell he had wound up here.

+=+=+=+=+=

Shiv drowses, basking in the warmth that is Dani Faygan in the small guest quarters of the Republic light frigate. Their escape had been close, with some perilous moments, but several more of Raze’s conversation-enders had helped them get to the _Consular_ -class, known as the _Bucket_.

Shiv’s eyes had widened as Dani had led him to a cabin separate from his brothers. He had taken a deep breath as he wondered what to make of this; if she would make him talk about what had happened on Llanic. Instead, she had locked the door and had very slowly, deliberately undressed him—pulling each article of the business suit from him, her eyes never leaving his, one hand remaining on his cheek at all times. The ‘sergeant’ part of him marveled at her skill and dexterity in baring him. She had shrugged out of the beautiful gown with the same ease, before hugging him tightly to her. A moment after she had finished kissing him—at least for the moment—she had giggled and leapt into his arms, dispelling any awkwardness over the conversation with Croft on the Smugglers’ Moon. Her negligible weight had rested comfortably in his arms. He had taken a deep breath and turned towards the large bunk. He somehow had managed to avoid banging her head on the top of the bunk, but it had been a close-run thing.

He shakes his head at a different awkwardness. _You’d think I’ve never done this before,_ he reflects. He manages not to snort at the thought of the small number of times he had actually done this; especially with someone not named Daaineran Faygan.

Shiv feels his gut contract as he thinks of the one moment that had nearly derailed the light. She had lifted one of his wrists, her eyes falling on the still healing scars. He had seen the sadness flow to her purple eyes. He steels himself, remembering the rambling message he had left on her comm, of her offer.

Instead, she reaffirmed what he had first felt from her. She moves her mouth to the scar, first moving her lips over the wound, then adding her tongue. She had pushed the sadness from her eyes as her mouth had moved over him, allowing them to shift to the black. Her mouth had shifted over to the other wrist, mirroring the movement for only a second. Shiv smiles at the warmth and tenderness that had moved through him. The smile turns into a grin as her mouth moves inward to his chest; then outward—alternating back to the center of his belly; to each hipbone before moving inward again for her final objective.

In spite of the feelings that had flowed from that particular move, as he recovered from the rapid heartbeat and respirations, he had realized that his warmth had been centered in his chest, as it had tightened with gratitude for what she had _not_ done, at least not yet.

He pushes the thoughts of conversation—the conversation that he had with Maul—away as she snuffles against his chest. He laughs as her teeth surprises him there. She lies back.

His mind turns to his internal debrief of their mission.

“So, we were just a distraction?” he asks.

She lifts her head up and kisses him. “A quite pleasant one,” she says with that warm smile.

He rolls his eyes. “Not that. For the mission,” he says with only a tiny hint of exasperation. He remembers how much he had missed the little squeaking noise that she made when his fingers find a particularly sensitive spot.

“Kind of, but not in the way that you think,” she says, after the retribution session calms. “You all kind of have the look of the Antols’ preferred muscle. Kind of dark featured, large human males that do have an air of the identical about them, but not quite like you and your brothers.”

He smiles at the phrase that she uses to describe he and the other Blackbirds. She returns his kiss. “They’re not quite as handsome or as smart and resourceful, either,” she whispers, the smile evident in her voice. She grows serious. “No. We had intended for you to make the deal. Antol soldiers are usually kept in the dark on their missions. We put Baldrick—Phygus in there to make sure you were safe. It’s just that the boss—that Blastech executive resting in the brig—got antsy. I think he was on to us a bit. He was very nervous with that AI tech that he’d stolen. We had to move and hope that y’all were good enough to get out of it. You were, with some backup.”

They are silent for a few moments as they rediscover certain spots on one another. His mind moves to other thoughts; thoughts of more awkwardness.

“Croft?” Shiv asks as they relax.

She smiles. “We’re close, but not just in that way. We’ve been through a lot together. Yeah, we’ve played around a bit, but that’s not the important part. He’s as close to me as a brother—a brother-of-the-heart, as we call it on my mother’s world.”

He digests this. “Sorry. Hope I’m not coming across as some jealous idiot. I know that you’re not exclusive. I don’t think I want that either. Just a bit awkward, him being a general and all.”

“No, dear. You’re not. You’re showing the same sensitivity and even vulnerability that warms certain parts of me. Not just those, bud,” she says at his devilish look. She touches his chest, causing the beat inside to increase in speed. “That one.” She pulls herself up to his face. Then looks down, suddenly vulnerable herself. It is his turn to bring his palm to her cheeks.

She takes a deep breath. “My people live life to the fullest. The heart is the most important part of the Zeltron soul. We feel it’s big enough to share.” Her eyes track back to his, a half-second before her lips touch his eyelids. “We’re not exclusive. Neither are we promiscuous. Our lovers have to fit somewhere in our hearts, as well as our minds, and our bodies.” She rolls her eyes at his grin at the last word. She shifts her hips, eliciting his own squeak.

He smiles. “I appreciate you sharing it with me, as well,” he says.

As they rest quietly in each other’s arms; as her empathic gift settles down, he feels one part of her heart that is distant, separated. He falls asleep to a vision of a tall figure, standing on a water-swept world, looking up at the sky. Only a sensation, but one that looks towards the woman in his arms. A familiar figure.

He smiles, privileged that her inner heart is shared with him.

He relaxes even more. His last coherent thoughts are that she had done more to heal him than any conversation might. The conversation could come later.

On his own terms, as always, with this complex woman nestled in his arms.


End file.
